


Parallels

by ohgodmyeyes



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Death, Family, Force Ghosts, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Love, No actual Reylo action sorry, Not A Fix-It, Redeemed Anakin Skywalker, Redeemed Ben Solo, Redemption, Understanding, but Ben loves her very much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:27:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29358726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohgodmyeyes/pseuds/ohgodmyeyes
Summary: Ben Solo dies thinking he's failed.His grandfather knows better.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo
Comments: 12
Kudos: 29





	Parallels

Ben Solo falls to his knees. It's bright here— bright, and warm. His pain is gone, his wounds are healed, and he is secure in the knowledge that the person who nearly died saving him from himself is alive. Ben is grateful to Rey, _so grateful..._ but even more than that, he loves her. He loves her for who she is, who she was, and all she'll ever be.

Most of all, he regrets that he had to die, because being dead means he can't be with her. Not the way he wants to be.

He knows he ought to be happy, but the reality of his actions haunts him. Why did he waste so much time? Why did he believe false promises, and chase such sinister dreams? Despite his transition into the Force, hatred remains in his heart: Hatred for Snoke, hatred for Palpatine... most significanly, though, he hates Kylo Ren. 

He looks around himself only to find an empty landscape, jarring in its breadth and desolation. Is this death? Even in life, things never looked so bleak. Does being one with the Force really mean being alone?

Ben always hated to be alone.

He doesn't call out, because he doesn't believe anybody will hear him. Instead, tears come to his eyes; he starts to cry. He's been crying a lot lately— during some of his last days in the mortal realm, he feared his tears may never stop. Why does he still feel this way? Should death not be a reprieve? He's always felt too much. There have always been too many voices in his head; too many voices saying too many things, and saying them all at once. Ben has spent most of his life feeling torn-apart. 

Ben doesn't _want_ to be torn apart. 

Not here— not anymore.

"Let me tell you a little something about being torn apart," says a voice, very suddenly and from seemingly nowhere. It's a soft voice; assertive, yet gentle. Its intonation is formal, but not pretentiously so, and if Ben could see the face of the person wielding it, he suspects that there might be a wry little smile on their face.

"Who's there?" he asks simply, gazing about with wide, wet eyes and a trembling mouth.

"I didn't know whether or not you would recognize me," the voice answers, and now it seems as if it's coming from directly behind him. 

Ben jumps to his feet and spins on his heel; he doesn't know what this is— doesn't know if he's facing a threat, or if he's meeting a friend. Do the dead have friends? He doesn't know. He's never been dead before.

 _"Who are you?"_ he asks desperately, turning to face his apparent host. The man he finds when he does looks very much like a traditional Jedi Knight, one from the old days: His robes are a dark, earthy hazel set against angelic swaths of stark white, and his expression is serene; almost impassive. He's blonde and fair, and although Ben is quite sure he's never met this man, his eyes are strikingly familiar. Where has he seen those eyes before? 

He starts to feel anxious. He chides himself for it, but that doesn't make it stop. 

"It's alright to be frightened," the man tells him, "but I promise you have nothing to fear. When I felt that you were on your way here, I knew I had to be the one to welcome you." He steps up closely to Ben, and reaches out to place a warm, reassuring hand on his shoulder. "My name is Anakin Skywalker," he says. "I've been waiting a long time to meet you."

Ben blinks the tears out of his eyes, because more than lonesome or anxious, he's shocked. "Grandfather," he whispers. _"Darth Vader."_

"For a time," Anakin confesses, "but that time has long since passed."

"I failed," says Ben. "I failed everyone— I believed the old Emperor's lies; let him into my head. I thought I could be like you, but I... _I made a mistake."_ He can hear his own voice beginning to crack under the weight of his feelings, and the corners of his eyes are being pricked once more by fresh tears. He's killed his family and rejected the Light, all to emulate someone he's only now realizing he never knew the first thing about. 

The kind-looking man before him, after all, is nothing like the masked spectre of unbridled power and wrath he might have expected to see only weeks prior to his own death. He feels lost. _Confused._

"It's okay," says Anakin. "All of it is okay. Don't you understand how proud of you I am?"

Ben shakes his head, and clasps his own hand over his grandfather's, because he doesn't want him to leave. "You shouldn't be," he argues. "It took me too long to understand— too long to make the right choice. I've done terrible things, and I—"

 _"Sometimes we do terrible things,"_ Anakin offers reassuringly. "People are more than the sum of their mistakes." The man who used to be Darth Vader knows this better than anyone. 

"I destroyed a Temple," says Ben. "I killed my father, and I hurt my mother— badly. She gave her life to reach me." His voice wavers as he goes on, "I wasted countless chances; treated the most incredible thing I've ever felt like it was a means to an end. All I could think about was power, when power was the very last thing that mattered. I could have—" He cuts himself off; swallows hard at a newly-formed lump in his throat. He never could have anticipated that he'd have, in death, the clarity with which he's finding himself right now. He supposes it's good, but it _hurts._ It hurts like getting stabbed.

Ben stammers and whimpers and tries to continue speaking, but he can't.

"Stop, Ben," Anakin says, with all the benevolence his spirit can muster. He pauses next, and looks his grandson up and down. "Our paths to the Dark Side do possess some parallels. The most significant one of those parallels, though, is that neither of us was ever irredeemable. Do you understand?"

Ben shakes his head. No, he doesn't understand— he also doesn't try to speak, because he feels he can't. 

"Understanding will come in time," Anakin tells him. "We have eternity here, after all. For now, all you need to comprehend is your success. How could I _not_ be proud of you?" 

"'Success'? Why should you be proud of me? I—"

 _"You did it."_ Anakin squeezes Ben's shoulder tightly, and speaks emphatically. He hasn't cried for a very long time (there isn't much to cry about, here in the ether of the Force), but he can feel tears springing to his own eyes right now. He always had faith in Ben; always knew the boy would see through the Emperor's lies, and correct his mistakes— _their_ mistakes. 

"What? What have I done?" asks Ben desperately, still under the impression that his legacy will be marked by what he's taken, as opposed to all he had to give.

Anakin beams proudly, and tells Ben what he thinks should be obvious: _"You saved her,"_ he says. "That girl you loved— you saved her. You saved her by yourself, without conceding to the Emperor's malevolence. She's going to _live,_ and it's because you were strong enough to give everything up for her." He shakes his head. If only he'd had his grandson's foresight— his bravery, his selflessness. He'd been scared in his youth; scared to death, every second of every day. It hadn't served him, nor had it served his family. 

Ben's realization had, perhaps, come late... but not _too_ late.

Not as late as his own, anyway.

Ben Solo spent a significant portion of his mortal life telling himself and everyone who would listen that he was going to finish what his grandfather started. He always thought that meant rebuilding the Empire; trying to push cohesion upon a galaxy of chaos through brute force. No one could have got through to him; his mother couldn't, and neither could his uncle. His grandfather's true voice had been masked; hidden behind the selfish ambitions of the Emperor— a legacy of what should have been love, manipulated for the sole purpose of causing pain.

Anakin might have been angry about it (hadn't he thrown that gnarled old ghoul down a shaft?) but there was no anger here. Not in a place of utmost clarity and peace. 

Anyway, Ben hadn't been lying— to himself, or to anyone else. In rescuing the person he loved most in the universe, he'd brought the peace and stability Anakin had always craved... and he'd done it without the aid of foolish old magic tricks, or false promises from dishonest conjurers. 

He'd done it by conquering his fear, and standing up to the Dark Side. Nothing more, and nothing less.

Having begun to tremble at the sheer strength of his own feelings, Ben finds himself being drawn into Anakin's embrace as he starts to sob. It's warm here in his grandfather's arms; warm, and reassuring. 

Loving. 

_Kind._

Why hadn't anyone ever told him that Darth Vader had been kind?

He supposed that didn't matter anymore— not now that he was dead. Ben might have perished, but he'd done so in the act of fulfilling his own promise: To finish what Anakin had started; to do what the grievously abused man trapped inside a cocoon of durasteel and his own fear couldn't. Ben had saved his love from death, and in so doing had spared the galaxy further torment under the guise of cohesion. 

This is what Anakin is proud of. Love has always meant more to him than anything, and his grandson embodies that value like no one else he's ever known. Nobody had ever felt things the way Anakin felt them while he'd been alive, but having finally been gifted the chance to meet Ben Solo, the former Sith Lord feels less alone than he ever has before.

The two men stand for a long time against the backdrop of the vast nothingness into which Ben was thrust following his death. His sacrifice hasn't been for naught; his feelings, for all of their strength, have served him well. His own grandfather might very well be the only person anywhere in the universe who can understand him; Anakin knows this, and that's why he holds the crying boy. Holds him until he finds it in himself to stop crying; holds him until he can stand under his own power.

Once Ben finds himself able to do that, Anakin can take him to greet the others. There are so many people who want to see him— some of whom he knows well, and some of whom he's never met. Anakin also wants to _talk_ to Ben; let his grandson come to know him the way he's always wanted. This is a place where the stains of politics and mortal misconceptions don't exist; where people can be who they were always meant to be, without manipulation or interference. 

_Without fear._

"I'm sorry, grandfather," Ben sobs into Anakin's robes. _"I'm sorry for everything."_

"Don't be sorry, Ben," Anakin answers gently. "There's no need for that here."

"What should I do, then?" asks Ben, feeling comforted, but also lost. Just as lost as he's ever felt. It's a good thing he has somebody to help him, now— somebody like him; somebody who understands.

"You should come with me," says Anakin decidedly, stepping back and reaching out to wipe Ben's tears from his cheeks with the sleeve of his robes.

"Where are we going?" 

"Well, your mother certainly wants to see you— would you like to see her?" Anakin knows Ben very well already because in many ways, he is Ben. This is how he knows Ben misses Leia.

Confirming Anakin's suspicion, Ben nods emphatically. He's scared, certainly, but of course he wants to see his mother. He wonders if she's missed him as much as he's missed her; wonders if she's forgiven him, or if she's still upset.

But of course she isn't upset. Not with her son, and not with her father, either. There isn't any space for anger, here in the loving embrace of the Force.

They look into each other's eyes (Anakin thinks Ben's are awfully familiar, too) and then they walk off together— into death; into peace.

Neither one of them ever deserved anything less.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this while crying into a beer last night after watching TROS again.
> 
> Ben should definitely be talking to Sebastian Shaw instead of Hayden Christensen, but whatever. Anakin is Anakin is Anakin. He's perfect no matter whose body he's in.


End file.
